Combray

Sometimes, too, as Eve was created from a rib of Adam, a woman would be born during my sleep from some misplacing of my thigh. Conceived from the pleasure I was on the point of enjoying, she it was, I imagined, who offered me that pleasure. My body, conscious that its own warmth was permeating hers, would strive to become one with her, and I would awake. The rest of humanity seemed remote in comparison with this women whose company I had left but a moment ago; my cheek as still warm from her kiss, my body ached beneath the weight of hers. If, as would sometimes happen, she had features of some woman whom I had known in waking hours, I would abandon myself altogether to this end: to find her agin, like people who set out on a journey to see with their eyes some city of their desire, and imagine that one can taste in reality what has charmed one’s fancy. And then, gradually, the memory of her would fade away, I had forgotten the girl of my dream.Marcel Proust

(Excerpt from  In Search of Lost Time: Vol 1)

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